She drops her arms. “Have a nice night, Easton. I have shit to do. And for the record, I don’t need you barging into my life and trying to fix everything.”

“When are you going to stop pretending we don’t have anything to talk about?”

“When I’m feeling up for the conversation.”

“How can I make you feel up for it, Shay? Tell me.” I lower my voice. “If you’ll listen to nothing else I have to say, at least let me apologize for your dad’s funeral. I never should’ve told you. It was wrong, and it was selfish. I wish I could take it back.”

She stares through me, and the ache in my chest amplifies with each second. “You’re right. It was selfish, and I wish you could take it back too. But you can’t. You can’t change any of it, so please stop trying to bring it all back to the surface.” She turns on her heel and walks away. I don’t take my eyes off her as she strides purposefully all the way to the bar and disappears into the kitchen.

Fuck that. I push out of the booth to follow her.

“Hey, East. How’s it going?” Carter asks. Unless I missed him when I got here—which, to be fair, is completely plausible—he must’ve arrived while I was talking to Shay.

“Just trying to get your sister to give me the time of day.”

He lifts his chin, his jaw hardening. I wonder if Carter has ever noticed that his sister is all grown up now. But then he says, “Good luck with that.”

I push into the kitchen after Shay and find her standing with her arms braced against the stainless-steel counter, her head bowed. “If you’re here to give me more of your opinions on George, save your breath.”

“You deserve better than him. Is that really what you want? A relationship with a guy who doesn’t even realize how amazing you are? If you were mine . . .” My stomach cramps. She was mine. For the briefest moment, Shay was all mine. And I lost her. I knew I screwed up, but at the time, I was doing what I had to do. And I can’t regret any choice that gave me my daughter. “I wish I’d handled everything better.”

She releases a puff of air and shakes her head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Shay?”

When she turns and meets my eyes again, only bitterness glitters in hers. “You didn’t have to sleep with me. You didn’t even have to kiss me. You could’ve been the hero just by showing up in Paris when I needed a friend. Then none of this . . .”